Triple Murder
by Gwen's Blue Box
Summary: John has not had a pleasant day so far. Unfortunately, double murders occur nonetheless. But who would have thought that Anderson would be the one to make it a triple murder to investigate? Fluff, mostly.


Nobody ever owns anything. Neither do I.

**Triple Murder**

John had barely made it up the stairs to their flat, heavily packed with the groceries he had picked up on his way back home, and managed to sink into his armchair when a loud voice startled him out of his phase of regeneration: "Come on, John! Case!"

Case. Oh. Sleep instead?

Sherlock was already running down the stairs as John yelled after him: "Sherlock! Wait a moment, please! Just long enough for me to get out of my chair," he mumbled quietly to himself.

Seconds later, he was storming downstairs after Sherlock, his jacket in his hands, and got into the cab Sherlock had already hailed.

"Lestrade called," Sherlock curtly filled him in, gazing out of the window. "Double murder, apparently. Whitechapel."

"Mhm," John made, stifling a yawn. "I bet Anderson's on forensics." He couldn't help but had to chuckle. "I'll never forget his face after you'd explained to him that he had taken the wrong fingerprints."

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sherlock's gaze.

"What?" John wanted to know.

"I assumed he was going to punch you when you started laughing," he admitted after a few seconds.

Which caused John to only laugh more. "Yeah, his face was ridiculous! I'd like to see that again… I think I could need something to cheer me up right now."

Sherlock had turned his head back facing the window. "I told you to resign your job," he said in a low voice.

John had to sigh. "I could supplant Anderson, don't you think? Taking the wrong person's fingerprints is something even I could do."

Sherlock only chuckled in response.

Lestrade seemed relieved to see John.

While Sherlock was deducing and solving crimes and looking at the scene of the double murder, Lestrade waved John closer and then said: "Everybody's going crazy, here. Glad you're here, too."

John furrowed his brow, looking at Greg questioningly. "What's wrong?"

Greg ruffled a hand through his hair and sighed. "With the explosion last week… it's been quite stressy for the past few days, everybody's already on edge. Anderson's pestering, too, his wife's found out about Sally… To be honest, I was afraid you weren't gonna come and I would've had to deal with Anderson and Sherlock throwing insults at each other. I mean, I know you do have another day-time job."

Speaking of Sherlock… Ah, still deducing. Taking a look at one of the corpses. About to call for John.

John fixed Greg with a serious expression on his face. "I am never ever letting Sherlock go to a crime scene alone," he replied, half serious, half joking. "The last time I was so stupid, he almost got himself run over by a car, and I only got to know about it because you called me from hospital."

The image of Sherlock in the large bed, not awake yet after emergency surgery…

"Are you talking about me?" a voice interrupted them and made John remember how to breathe again. "John, I need your medical opinion. Come on."

"Yeah, coming," John replied immediately, smiling at Greg before following Sherlock to the body. The body where Anderson was standing, too.

John had barely kneeled down beside the corpse – female, with a large head wound – when Anderson's voice made him freeze.

"Ah, your loyal colleague again," Anderson said, apparently addressing Sherlock. "It's actually a miracle he's still hanging around with you."

John pressed his lips together and decided to get up again. The corpse could wait. "In case you've failed to notice, Anderson, I'm here, too."

"John, the victim," Sherlock reminded him coolly, suddenly having his mobile phone in his hands, typing madly.

The victim. Anderson was going to be the victim if he did not shut up soon, John thought.

"Yeah," he made instead, crouching down again, starting to examine the head wound.

Nothing was to be heard for a few seconds, at least not until Anderson's voice cut through the silence again. "How much do you pay him, freak? For staying around? For living with you? For shagging you?"

For shagging you. John felt like choking for a second. While slowly raising his head to look at Anderson, he caught a quick glance at Sherlock's face, and there…

He knew that look. And he absolutely never wanted to see Sherlock with that expression again.

It was there for a split-second, obvious for John, and then it was gone again, covered by Sherlock's impenetrable mask.

Hurt.

Time seemed to slow down.

Anderson was speaking: "I bet you need to bribe him…"

Bribe him.

John was getting to his feet, his eyes narrowing, his breathing fast.

The next second, Anderson was on the concrete, holding his bleeding nose, and John was rubbing the bruised knuckles of his right hand.

Oh, that felt better. The best thing he'd done the entire day, in fact.

"Try to think next time before you say something out loud," he spat at Anderson. "Because next time, I might use my stronger hand. Left-handed, remember?"

"You…he… he!" Anderson stammered from the concrete, but John could not have cared less.

"John…," Sherlock began in an almost stunned voice.

"Don't say anything. Let's go." He stormed off, still seeing red inside of his mind. "Sorry, Greg!" he shouted as they passed the DI. "Call us tomorrow, alright?"

"John…," Sherlock said again, gripping his arm. "I haven't solved the…"

John forced a controlled breath out through his nose. "Sorry. I can't. If I see Anderson again, I'm probably… don't know. Maybe you will have to investigate a triple murder then."

Sherlock seemed truly taken aback for a moment, but then started laughing. John, still a little breathless, fell in. "Let's go?" he suggested. "Dinner?"

Sherlock simply studied him for a few moments. "Why did you do that?" he inquired then instead of answering John.

John couldn't believe it. "Are you serious?" he wanted to know while they were slowly walking towards the main road.

Sherlock frowned. "Why would I be joking?" he returned.

John couldn't help it as he felt a strangled giggle escape his lips. "Did you hear him? Anderson? Did you hear what he was saying? I…" He didn't finish the sentence,not knowing what he had intended to say. His rage was pretty obvious, he guessed.

But Sherlock simply seemed surprised. "Yes, of course, but why…"

John laughed helplessly, raising his hands. "Why? Why? Seriously, Sherlock? Anderson insulted my best friend, without any reason, and so I punched him. Really, I'd assumed you could have deduced that."

Sherlock went silent for a few moments. "John?" he then asked.

John was still panting a little, especially if his thoughts returned to Anderson. Anderson's insults and Sherlock's expression. And his surprise.

"Thank you."

Thank you?

John felt himself almost blush and then tried to clear his throat. "You're… you're welcome, Sherlock. Always." Why was he blushing? No reason at all, he assumed. Maybe because he had the feeling that no-one had ever done something similar for Sherlock before. And because of the thank you.

"You're welcome," he repeated. "Jesus, I'm starving. Dinner? Angelo's?"

And this time, Sherlock nodded.


End file.
